Red Lines Horizontal

Terrible coffee ran over like a dirty beach
Evoke impressionism receive a seated, outboard motor of an ovation
I had aged
Henri Matisse stop lights
Or closer, salmon over the Twombly of my nose—sip
Cup of disrespect in her eyes, pay issues, this déjà vu
At the three-quarter mark of acid-free paper
Swiftly, for I know not of trams sliding down Burke St like oysters
Islands toasted off noted criticism, coded, sentimental
Took three of us to roll the small r into the bed of a truck
Getting up to Instant Hit by The Slits

This song's called Red Lines Horizontal, Flat White
Or Number Six Seed Cycle for Cy
Cut a painting up and let them be lost to the wind
Is Piece for the Wind by Yoko Ono in its entirety from 1962

Iodine's half-life
Stale Robert Motherwell or spilled, botched muscle
Lemonade sales on love's tendency
Actually, a lost word—tense
In the past her shoes worn only on Fridays washed on Sundays
Outside on the lawn expensive polish
Polish them the money rises
Economy index quiver verb
Slip crash etc etiquette easing on the pavement
Care of Barbara Guest line and gonzo enjambment

This song's called Red Lines Horizontal, Flat White
Or Number Six Seed Cycle for Cy
Cut a painting up and let them be lost to the wind
Is Piece for the Wind by Yoko Ono in its entirety from 1962

What's the time?
It's tomorrow
She said this exiting a theatre
Two washed-up actors abseil their faces
Screw script edits and promo junkets
We suppose Jakarta
Twenty-one-year-old lemonade flat as a cummerbund
Or, better, shadow boxer
Shadow boxer feeling the night, linoleum in it
Orange swear and the quarter moon trigger for it
Power—sooty-thin gun cloud a whisper into her neck
A few grams of breath-like climate, in situ
Clock arm moves like a ponytail, roasted shadow in figure eights
Thrown down with pinot noir
I feel utterly grey (white with a little purple in it)
A mole on her thigh
Turning a page, the gentle twist of the pepper shaker
I hear shoulder reconstruction like the gravelly nibs in wildflowers

This song's called Red Lines Horizontal, Flat White
Or Number Six Seed Cycle for Cy
Cut a painting up and let them be lost to the wind
Is Piece for the Wind by Yoko Ono in its entirety from 1962

Yellow bird on a limb of green, lost in the needle-eye of a cursive e
Yellow bird on a limb of green, lost in the needle-eye of a cursive e
Myth on her hip
A choked breeze unnamed dragging desert-beige
Clotted heart-attack cheese across a table
Hands move like wrens
Probably robins sewing up a point or tone, ruffled
It's as if our own desire to possess the language of music
If for a lean year or an unknown dog
By chance directs us

This song's called Red Lines Horizontal, Flat White
Or Number Six Seed Cycle for Cy Twombly
Cut a painting up and let them be lost to the wind
Is Piece for the Wind by Yoko Ono in its entirety from 1962

Thank you, Yoko
Thank you, Yoko
Thank you, Yoko
Thank you, Yoko